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[272]
urgent request of a like nature from the same soldier a few moments later, he went upon the ramparts to see for himself if it was indeed necessary to withdraw the man from his post.
He had only been there a short time, when he saw one of the enormous 300-pound shells coming directly towards himself; but he would not seek shelter in the adjacent “bomb-proof.”
Having obliged the sentinel to stand his ground, he deemed it his duty to run the same risk, and to give the men under his command an example of courage and coolness.
None, save those who have seen these immense projectiles coming, and have heard the awful sound that they make, can thoroughly appreciate the nerve and resolution that this decision required.
The shell fell near him, burst, and shattered his frame, and after three hours of mortal agony, he closed his eyes forever, in that hard-fought and historic fort.

“I die willingly for South Carolina, but oh!
that it had been for Ireland!”
were the last words of this gallant young officer, the eldest son of the “Irish patriot.”

It is nineteen years since his brave heart grew still, and his comrades laid him in the beautiful magnolia cemetary near Charleston, where the old moss draped oaks guard his resting place.
The stranger may stand and look across the broad waters of the harbor to the grim and silent fortress where he breathed his last, and listen to the tall pines as they whisper a requiem over its commander, who lies in his low and blood-stained grave.

Every year, on the 10th of May, which is the anniversary of (Stonewall) Jackson's death, the old and the young of Charleston go with tender and solemn love to lay floral memorials upon the mounds that cover those who died for them; and of all the hallowed spots at Magnolia, none is so well known, or is ever heaped so high with roses, as the Irish officer's grave, which, for fourteen years, was utterly unmarked, save by this touching tribute of honor to his memory.

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